The Wife Upstairs(30)

Then again, I’m remembering, he sometimes likes the Jane I actually am.

He lowers his phone and gives his full attention to me. “I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

There’s his real smile now, and he takes my hand again, squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just swamped. But I wanted to spend time with you today, and to get you out of the house for a little bit. You’ve seemed out of sorts the past week or so.”

Ever since John.

I sit there, my mind working, wondering what I can say, how much I can share. There’s an opening here, an opportunity, one of those chances to mix a little lie in with some actual truth, and it occurs to me that it might get me what I want a lot faster than dropping hints about fingers and rings.

“I guess I’m just wondering where all this is going,” I say, and he frowns, that crease deepening between his eyebrows. On the river, one of the kayakers calls to the other, and another pair of women jog by, glancing down at me and Eddie.

“It’s not that I don’t love living with you,” I go on. “I do. I really do. But when you’ve been a charity case for most of your life, you start to really resent that feeling.”

Eddie puts his phone down now and sits up straighter, his hands clasped between his knees. “What does that mean?”

I keep my own eyes trained on the river in front of me, on the families pushing strollers around the trail. The one couple with their arms around each other’s waists.

“You saw where I used to live. You know what my life was like before I met you. I don’t … I don’t belong here.”

He snorts at that. “Okay, again, I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Now I turn toward him, pushing my sunglasses up on my head. “It means that I’m not Emily or Campbell or—”

“I don’t want you to be any of them,” he says, taking my hand. “I love you because you’re not them. Because you’re not…” He trails off, and I see his throat move as he swallows.

He wants to say because you’re not Bea. I know it, and he knows I know if the way he suddenly looks away is any indication. But for the first time, I’m left wondering what that means. He had obviously adored her, so why is being different from her such a bonus to him?

“I’m sorry.” Eddie squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry if I haven’t made it clear how much I want you here. How much I need you and how, yes, you do belong here.”

Turning to look at me, he ducks his head so that our foreheads nearly touch, his lips almost brushing mine. “I am fucking in love with you, Jane,” he murmurs, the words sending an electric spark down my spine, his breath warm on my face. “That’s all that matters. None of this shit with the neighborhood, with Emily, any of that. That’s all just noise. This.” He lifts our joined hands between us, squeezing again. “This is real. This is what matters.”

Eddie kisses my knuckles, and I wait, practically holding my breath because if ever there were a moment to propose, it’s now, here in the park at sunset, him looking at me like that, me not even having to fake the wide-eyed swoony thing. How did I not realize sooner that I wanted this?

But then he drops our hands and turns away, sighing. “I’ll try not to be gone so much, though, okay? I’ll let Caitlyn handle more things at Southern Manors. Running two businesses is too much, but I can’t really give up either of them right now. You understand that, right?”

I’m still sitting there feeling the imprint of his lips on my fingers, wondering how this moment got away from me, wondering why we’re back to talking about his work and not getting engaged, so all I can do is nod and manage a feeble, “Yeah.”

Clearing my throat, I shake my head a little. Jesus, Jane, get it together.

I scoot closer, threading my arm through his elbow and resting my head on his shoulder. Disappointment sits like a rock in my stomach, heavy and hard. And not just because I feel even further away from cementing my place as Mrs. Rochester.

Because I genuinely want him to want me.

Because I want Eddie.





15





We have the next meeting for the Neighborhood Beautification Committee at Eddie’s house.

My house. Sometimes I think of it like that. But thinking it and actually feeling it are two different things, and as I carry our empty wineglasses to the sink once the meeting is over, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m right back where I started: a servant, rather than the lady of the house.

The meeting was mostly pointless, and I think the ladies only agreed to it for the chance to get back inside this place. The whole time we’d been sitting in the living room, talking about Pinterest boards and “Festive Fall Fun Décor,” I’d felt their eyes cataloguing what was gone, what was new.

Campbell and Emily linger after the other women have gone home, saying it’s to help me pick up, but I know it’s to do some more digging.

“This place looks great,” Campbell says, putting our wine bottle in the recycling. “I mean, it always did, but it just feels brighter now, doesn’t it, Em?”

Emily hums, nodding as she sips the last of the wine from her glass. “Totally.”

The house can’t look any different from how it did the last time they were in here. There might be a few pictures missing, but it’s not like I’ve gone on a redecorating spree.